Total pages in book: 153
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153935 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 770(@200wpm)___ 616(@250wpm)___ 513(@300wpm)
“Whatever I do, wherever life takes me, it will always just be me and Mom. And that’s okay. With her, I learned to be grateful. I learned to have a hero. I learned how to dream.”
Another pause, so silent I could die.
“So if I try hard enough, if I grow up strong enough, maybe one day I can be just like Mom. But deep inside, I’ll always wonder...if I knew my dad, would I wish for something different? Would I wish for me and Mom plus one?” Jordan goes quiet and looks at his teacher wide-eyed.
My gut twists.
No, you wouldn’t, kid. Stop fucking wishing.
I’m careful not to mutter it out loud. I should’ve known coming here would have a price.
Miss Jane Austen Scarf takes the microphone back, and we all clap for him. I catch a few looks from the people next to me and realize how hard I’m slapping my palms together.
Shit.
“Jordan, you did an amazing job! Boys and girls, we have a special surprise now.” She turns from looking at the kids to me. “Mr. Heron, would you like to come up and say a few words?”
I know what she wants. I meet her at the microphone, pull a check out of my coat pocket, and make a production of offering it to her with a handshake that makes her whole body ripple.
“Just hold it up,” she whispers, a warm blush on her cheeks.
All her natural response to the handshake does is make me think about Miss Bristol and her adorable, infuriating ass.
Not today. Not now.
I plaster on a fake businessman’s grin and hold the check out to the audience, moving it in this triangle over my head, but there’s no way they can see the print.
“Magnus Heron, the head of Heron Communications, went to school here just like you.” She points at the kids. “He sat in the very same chairs you’re sitting in now, and today he owns one of the most powerful rising companies in the entire country!”
I smile woodenly. Surely they’ve gotten new chairs since I was a pupil.
“He’s also been kind enough to donate fifteen thousand dollars to the Young Scribes program.” She turns to look at me again, but she’s still speaking into the mic. “Mr. Heron, do you want to tell them what the money’s for, and maybe say a few words about writing?”
My brows pull together. I didn’t agree to make a big speech and don’t have anything prepared, but...talking is what I do.
“Sure, my pleasure.” I take the microphone away from her. “First of all, that was an outstanding essay I heard today. Congratulations, Jordan. I believe the contest benefited everyone, and I’m certain you’ll all receive feedback that makes your writing stronger.”
Their little faces are blank.
I see a few yawns and try not to laugh.
“Your teacher asked me to talk about writing, so I won’t bore you. I’m no writer in the traditional sense. I don’t do fantasy books about dragons or chase after scandals for a living, but I do know this—the world needs wordsmiths. I’ve paid millions for good copywriters to turn words into sales. And how do you become good? Practice. Listen. Write. I know, I know, it might seem like you’ll never get there, but I started learning right here too. I used to wake up at four a.m. every day and write for two hours every morning before school. If my words hadn’t gotten stronger—and thanks to the teachers here, they did—but even if they hadn’t, the discipline alone was worth it.
“The very same discipline carried me through the Marine Corps. A few years later, it let me take a business from limping along to a marathon run. I wish you all the same success. Words will open doors you can only dream of right now. That’s why I’m here with this check—to help make sure each and every one of you has a sterling chance to work with a professional editor on your manuscripts. Take their criticism to heart. Let it burn you and then grow from the ashes. Listen to your guides, and you’ll be standing in my place sooner than you think.”
I wish that were true.
Of course, none of them should ever be standing up here for the same secret reasons I am.
The kids applaud me the same way they clapped for Jordan.
The difference is, I didn’t do anything besides throw money at them, and the kid wrote his heart out.
I scan the audience, wondering if Marissa is here, and if I should talk to her.
If I tried, would she let me?
5
It’s A Cinnamon Morning (Sabrina)
I sit at my desk at Purry Furniture & More with my face slumped over the keyboard.
I can’t remember the last time my head hurt this bad.
The Instagram account pings notifications nonstop on the desktop studio screen. I mean, I’m glad my meme is getting traction, but damn. Who turned the volume up so loud?